by J. J. Sorel
I nodded with a giggle.
As we roamed up the long hallway, searching for the powder room, I opened a door and discovered a couple sitting on the edge of a bed, snorting coke. I said “Sorry” and closed the door quickly.
When we finally found the bathroom, we both fell onto fluffy chairs.
Cassie bent down and massaged her ankles. “These shoes are too new.”
“They look great. You look great, Cas.” Recalling the cocaine-snorting couple, I asked, “Is Marcus into coke, too?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. He’s never taken it around me. Justin’s habit is pretty obvious, though. He’s always jumping about, full of energy, whenever we’re out.”
“God. We’ve been dating for three months, and I hardly know him. I didn’t even know he had a brother.”
“Me too. Marcus only just told me.” She turned to face me. “Boy, Bronson’s fucking hot.”
“So you keep saying,” I said, heading for the mirror so that I could smooth back my hair.
“He couldn’t take his eyes off you, Aves.”
My face burned again. I had noticed his gaze returning on more than one occasion, but I put it down to curiosity. “Maybe he wanted to see who his brother was dating.”
Cassie leaned in and applied some lipstick. “Mm… I don’t know. I think he’s attracted. He ignored me.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“And you seemed pissed off with Justin,” she said.
“I didn’t think it was that obvious.” I took a deep breath. “He never listens whenever I talk. It’s all about him. And the way he checked out Candy. I’m sure he’s on coke and…” I sighed. “Apart from the lack of spark, he told his mom that I’m still working for Grazilla Ironpants.”
Cassie giggled at the ridiculous name I’d given my ex-boss. “He’s a bit caught up in himself, I’ll grant that. But he’s seriously rich. You’ve heard about the share portfolio he inherited from his dad?”
I nodded with resignation.
“We’ll be rich bitches. And then we can have little affairs here and there, just like any self-respecting desperate housewife would.”
“Mm… let me guess, buff, barely-out-of-college Latino hunks raking leaves on the massive grounds of our white mansions?” I pulled a face.
Cassie giggled infectiously. “That sounds just right.”
“I’m never going to do that.” I became serious. “I mean it. It’s all good to joke. But when I marry, it will be for love.”
“You’re such a romantic. What about all the comforts of life?”
“Give me ceiling-banging orgasms over Cartier any day,” I said.
“But you haven’t had one of those yet, have you?”
“I take it you’re referring to the orgasm?”
Cassie nodded with a chuckle.
“Not with a guy. Only my fingers.”
“Now I know what to buy you for your birthday,” said Cassie.
I shrugged. “A gigolo?”
“No, crazy girl, a vibrator. I love mine. That’s how I get my kicks, and Marcus is pretty good like that. He’s a giving lover. At least you can train Justin to use his tongue.”
“That shouldn’t be up to me, surely. In any case, he’s a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am sort of guy.”
“Boring,” crooned Cassie, opening the door.
Walking down the hallway, I saw Justin brush his nose after closing a door behind him. He noticed our approach and waited. “There you are, sexy girl.”
I pushed out of his hold. “You’ve been doing drugs, Justin.”
“It’s a party. Now come on, don’t go all tight on me. Let’s have fun.” He winked at Cassie, after which he led me by the hand.
The disco had commenced. Mirror balls spun around while pulsating beams of epilepsy-inducing lights dappled the floor.
Justin grabbed my hand and twirled me around. “Let’s dance.”
Marcus and Cassie joined us as we shuffled about. Turning it into a workout after the large meal I’d eaten earlier, I revved it up a notch and moved my body about vigorously. Next to us, while owning her exotic-dancer tag with pride, Candy wiggled her butt and shimmied her shoulders. I noticed Justin’s eyes settling on her, and after the song ended, I decided on a break.
Recalling the sugary delights, I headed straight over to the table of cakes. My olfactory nerve went into overdrive as I sniffed in the yummy aroma of pure delight. A chocolate mud cake stole my heart and suddenly became my sole ambition in life.
Holding a glass of champagne in one hand and a plate in the other, I found a nice quiet corner outside on the terrace by the pool.
Enjoying the peace, I sank back onto a cushioned, comfy cane chair, and with each mouthful of melty chocolate, I succumbed to shivery pleasure, convincing myself that cake was as good as sex, if not better, given my lack of experience in that area.
From where I sat, I could see Justin dancing so close he nearly rubbed himself against Candy. I looked away and kept indulging in my cake. Strangely, I didn’t feel any jealousy. If anything, sympathy for James washed over me, considering his wife wore her flirtatiousness on her plumped lips.
I enjoyed sitting out in the open air surrounded by trees and earthy, floral aromas. It was a clear night with a pearly moon that beamed a ripple onto the swimming pool.
Fanning away smoke that suddenly blew in my direction, I looked up and noticed Bronson, his back to me, puffing on a cigarette. He turned and, noticing me there, distanced himself.
My eyes were drawn to him in a way I wished they weren’t. Under the moonlight, he seemed like an almost mystical being bathed in shadow, especially when the smoke formed a halo around him.
He turned again and said, “Is the smoke annoying you?”
I put my fork down and ran my tongue around my lips to wash away the chocolate. “Um… no. It’s okay. I’m kind of used to it, anyway.”
A slight shift of the brow was his only response, and then he went back to smoking while looking up at the sky.
“I work for a lady who smokes a lot.”
He turned and faced me again. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to be left alone. He didn’t exactly give anything away with that remote stare.
“She makes sure she’s on the balcony, though.” As I babbled, a little voice within told me to stop, because he wasn’t exactly encouraging me with that gaze that bordered on blank, even though I detected a whisper of depth in there somewhere. He just kept sucking on his cigarette as if his life depended on it.
Perhaps it was the champagne and the sugar hit because I kept talking anyway. “I read for her, you see. She also makes me mix martinis.”
After a moment and one more drag on his cigarette, he said, “With an olive?” A hint of a smirk touched his lips and boy… he wore it well.
I remained transfixed. “Um… no. Hmm… that’s funny.” I chuckled in a goofy way. “I have to admit I’d never mixed a martini in my life. I hadn’t even tried one. Until now, that is. She makes me join her, which means I always leave with a smile.”
“She sounds interesting.”
“Agatha’s a cross between Miss Havisham and Greta Garbo.”
“Let me guess,” he responded, butting out his cigarette. “A lonely woman with revenge in her heart who slinks about demanding to be left alone.”
My eyes brightened. “Justin didn’t know what I was talking about when I described her as that earlier. I’m impressed.”
He shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve had plenty of time to read.”
“Then you’re a rare being because these days not many people read. And to be honest, when I got this job being asked to do just that, reading from a book that I hold so close to my heart, I nearly broke out in a happy rash…. I…” I suddenly lost my chain of thought, mainly because he ran his tongue over his cushiony lips again.
“You were saying?” His voice had a deep, guttural resonance that suited him perfectly.
“Just that I feel blessed. It has
n’t been easy lately. I had the worst boss ever, and then I landed this job.”
“Do you always break out in a rash when you’re happy?” His lips twitched into a hint of a smile.
I giggled. “No. Sorry. I’ve had a bit of champagne, and I tend to say silly things.”
“Silly’s entertaining.”
His eyes burrowed deep into me again. And the best I could return was a cheesy tight smile. I looked down at my half-eaten cake, and strangely, my appetite had gone. “Do you have a favorite author?”
“Do you?” he asked.
“I think I love Emily Bronte.”
“Wuthering Heights,” he returned. I must have shown my surprise because he added, “Why that look? Am I giving off some kind of illiterate vibe?”
“No. Not at all,” I lied, because he was the last person I’d expected to know of Wuthering Heights. “I’m sorry. Most younger guys don’t really go for books like that.”
“I’m not like most younger guys.” His eyes darkened again. He’d gotten that right. There weren’t too many guys I’d met who read books, let alone looked like him.
He came toward me, and as I sat there staring up at him in suspense, for I wasn’t sure what he was about to do, my heart raced.
He leaned in, and placing his finger on my cheek, he wiped it gently.
“You had a brown mark there.” His eyes softened slightly. He put his finger in his mouth in a way that made me want to sigh. It was so suggestive. “Mm… chocolate. Nice,” he rasped as if he’d dipped his finger somewhere forbidden.
I wanted to speak but lost my voice due to that subtle cologne scent wafting up my nostrils, combined with his melty brown eyes boring into me.
“Um… Yeah, I…” As I stammered, seeking a coherent response, Justin and Marcus came out, holding cigars and laughing loudly.
Bronson turned to face them. The brothers’ obvious cold regard for one another made me think of the classic Cain and Abel relationship.
“Hey, Bron, come and have a cigar,” said Marcus.
“No. I’m off. I just dropped in to bring a gift. It’s at the entrance.”
“Hey, you shouldn’t have. How are things, anyway? Have you landed on your feet?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Good.”
Bronson looked over at me and nodded. “Ava.”
A smile trembled on my mouth. The way my name left those lips made me swoon. And then his eyes trapped mine for a final plundering of the senses. I stole a final glance as I watched him swagger off in a way that only he could.
Justin came and stood close to me. “What did he say? Did he try to sleaze onto you? That douche.”
“He was nice. In a kind of quiet way. He doesn’t say a lot,” I said.
“That’s Bron. Always been a man of few words. But he’s a good guy,” said Marcus.
“Bullshit,” said Justin with a sulky grimace.
Marcus looked at me and laughed. “Justin’s got a bee in his bonnet because Bronson used to get all the babes whenever we went out.”
“Don’t crap on,” Justin snapped before returning his attention to me. “Tell me, was he trying to fuck you? Seriously.”
“No,” I responded with an agitated tone. Justin’s coarseness grated on me. I rose. “I’m really tired. I might go.”
His face contorted with disappointment. “But you’ve only been here for an hour or so. The party’s only just warming up.”
“I’ll call a cab.” I kissed Marcus on the cheek. “Happy birthday.”
Justin grabbed me. “Hey, can I drop in later?”
I took a deep breath. “I’m really tired. Maybe we can catch up tomorrow night. Is that okay?”
He went dark suddenly. “Whatever.” Sulking, he turned his back on me, while Marcus cast me a tight smile as if to apologize for his cousin’s petulance.
I went in to grab my things and found Cassie still on the dance floor. Wearing her dance training on that well-toned body, she busted a few familiar moves we’d learned in class. I smiled because that was often me. But for some reason, I was not in the mood that night.
I joined Cassie on the floor, and she spun me around. Leaning close to her ear, I said, “I’m going.”
She stopped dancing, and her shoulders slumped. “You can’t.”
I kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll call you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
My head throbbed. Could that have been the two glasses of champagne? If so, I’d become a pussy, because I’d drunk far more than that with far less punishment in the past. It was probably more to do with the lack of sleep. Bronson’s dark, brooding presence had appeared before me. So lucid was the dream that I felt his finger touch my cheek, just like he’d done at the party. From that point on, I tossed and turned all night, shocked at how a fleeting moment with a stranger could affect me that profoundly.
Too tired to climb the stairs, I decided to ride the elevator. As I stepped into the chamber, I encountered a man in a cute uniform and pillbox hat sitting by the controls. His costume matched the building’s vintage. The elevator itself was a work of art, boasting geometric glass-work and a mosaic floor. I almost expected Greta Garbo or Jean Harlow to swan in dressed in slinky pearl-colored gowns. Just like everything about my interesting new job, even the elevator ride propelled me into a twilight zone.
“Good afternoon, Madam. What floor will it be?” the operator asked.
“Ten, thank you,” I said.
“Agatha’s abode,” he replied, dropping his formal tone.
I nodded.
“You must be her new assistant.”
“I am. I’ve been here for a week. I normally climb the stairs.” Noticing a slight furrowing of his forehead, I added, “It’s my only workout at the moment.”
“I see. So how is Mrs. Johnson?”
“Mrs. Johnson?” I asked.
“Agatha, dear,” he responded with a kind smile.
“She’s good.” I had yet to learn so much about my new employer, including her surname. “My name’s Ava,” I added.
He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Charlie’s my name. Pleased to meet you.”
Just as I was about to ask more about my enigmatic boss, the elevator stopped. He pulled open the door, and I stepped out. Adhering to protocol, I placed my hand in my bag and brought out my purse.
He held up his hand and shook his head. “No, dear. You keep it. I only accept tips from the rich.” He saluted me. “I’ll be seeing you.”
As I watched the doors snap shut, I asked myself “Did that just happen?” I stood transfixed for a moment. There were no bright lights, noisy phones, or screechy mega-screens. It was as though I’d climbed a summit somewhere away from humanity.
Finding the door slightly ajar, I knocked and walked sheepishly in. I entered the pretty living room, and as with each time I visited that beguiling space, I landed on something new to feast my eyes upon. This time I noticed white picture rails that accentuated the pink walls, from which hung vibrant and original Impressionist paintings. The wall-to-wall shelves housed a collection of figurines, colored glass vases, and countless fascinating pieces of bric-a-brac.
Looking about for my employer, I spotted Aggie seated on the terrace again, which I’d learned was her favorite spot. She had this uncanny, almost encyclopedic knowledge of the lives of those who passed by regularly. Although they bordered on defamatory at times, I found Aggie’s witty comments hilarious.
To avoid startling her, I coughed. Aggie turned, and seeing me, she gestured for me to join her.
“Um… I found the door open,” I said, stepping onto the terrace. “I hope you don’t mind. I knocked.”
She studied me for a moment. “I left it open for you. Just in case I dozed off. The sun’s too nice to miss.”
“Can I get you something?” I asked.
“The usual. It will be my first. I’ve decided to cut back.” A flicker of a smile came and went.
“Oh… That’s good, Aggie.”
; “Yes, instead of seven or eight, I’ll go down to five, I think. I’m starting to find the climb difficult.”
I nodded slowly, amazed. Given that one martini had me giggling at strangers whenever I left my daily session, five would have placed me in a coma.
“I can take you upstairs before I leave every day if you wish,” I said.
She shook her head vehemently. “Unnecessary.”
When I returned, I placed the martini by Aggie’s side and asked, “Would you like me to read?”
She shook her head.
Clasping the stem of the glass, Aggie took a sip. “Mm… lovely. You’re a natural.”
“Thanks,” I replied with a genuine smile. Aggie might as well have complimented me for brewing up a cure for cancer because it brightened my spirit learning that I had mastered the art of martinis. Not that it would gain me kudos for future employment.
Aggie pointed to a white peacock chair that resembled a throne by her side. “Sit.”
Sinking down onto the floral cushion, I allowed my body to indulge in comfort. I cast my face up to the blue sky as my pores absorbed pleasant warmth from the sun.
“You’re not yourself today,” said Aggie, reaching over for her cigarettes.
“I’m just a bit tired.”
“I appreciate you coming here on a Saturday. Will that work? Seven days. I’ll pay double time. I like the company. And I need someone to mix my martinis.” A cheeky smirk played on her lips.
“Of course. It’s only four hours a day, and you’re very generous. I’m grateful to have this job.”
“Good. Then tell me why you look like you’ve been fighting with your boyfriend.”
I shifted my position. “I didn’t have a fight as such.”
Her blue eyes narrowed as she studied me. I’d suddenly developed this irrational belief that Aggie could read my thoughts. Visualizing her white hair loose, I even started to wonder if she was a witch.
“You’ve fallen in love.”
My brow crumpled with disbelief. “What? No… I haven’t.”
She moved her attention to the street. Aggie’s mercurial nature, although jarring at times, was welcome, given that I wasn’t in the mood to analyze my love life.
